Aftermath
by Some1FoundMe
Summary: He watches the suds turn to rust as the blood that has been caked in her hair for hours is washed away. He has to keep reminding himself that it isn't her blood. It isn't hers and it isn't his. **Olicity Drabble**


**Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own Team Arrow, I'm just borrowing the them for a sec

**Aftermath**

He scrubs his fingers roughly through her hair and tries not to pay attention to the soft, hiccupping sobs that escape her. He knows that he isn't the cause of her tears but his chest constricts painfully as her frame shakes in his arms. The water cascading over them is hot, so much so that her soft skin is an angry red now. She is standing in front of him in her small shower, her chest to his, left in only her bra and the skirt that she'd been wearing when they'd found her. Her head is tipped back under the spray as he reapplies another palm full of shampoo and lathers her hair for a second time.

He watches the suds turn to rust as the blood that has been caked in her hair for hours is washed away. He has to keep reminding himself that it isn't her blood. It isn't hers and it isn't his. The blood that stained her blouse and made her hair cling to her face was Slade's. The arrow that had pierced his former friend's skull had sent a shower of blood over her. He had been holding her, threatening her life with the gun he'd pressed to her temple, and when his body had fallen limply to the ground, she had been taken down with him.

The blood that he'd helped scrub from her hands and arms hadn't been Slade's, though, and it had been the sight of John's blood staining her skin that had sent her into the state of shock that she was currently in. He wants to tell her that everything will be okay, that John will be fine, but the platitudes don't come. He cannot predict the outcome or the severity of the injuries that any of their friends had sustained. John hadn't been the only member of their team to suffer at Slade's hands before he'd taken his final breath.

He rinses her hair and when the water finally runs clear, he steps out of the shower and takes her with him. Wrapping a towel around her, he leads her to her bedroom. He doesn't dwell on the intimacy of the moment as he digs an oversized t-shirt from her dresser and helps her pull it down over her head. Her eyes are wide and bloodshot, tears still rolling silently down her cheeks, and he removes her bra for her. The fact that she doesn't blush or flinch alerts him to her emotional state. She is more fragile in this moment than he has ever seen her and it's unsettling.

He hesitates for just a moment before getting to his knees at her feet and removing her now soaking skirt and the underwear that cling to her skin. She lays her small hand on his shoulder for balance as she steps into the clean cotton briefs that he pulls gently up her legs. Her body trembles as he stands and backs her toward her bed. Folding the blankets back, she sinks down and instinctively curls in on herself. He pulls the covers up around her shoulders and tucks them against her body, hoping that what little warmth they provide will stop the shudders that continue to shake her frame.

He doesn't know what will happen tomorrow, he doesn't know how either of them will feel, but tonight he cannot leave her. He moves to her dresser and finds another t-shirt that looks suspiciously like one of his own and a pair of sweatpants that clearly don't belong to the petite blonde lying in the bed behind him. He removes his own wet clothes quickly, not bothering to leave her room because leaving her for even a moment isn't something that he can bear doing.

Moving back to the side of her bed, he climbs in behind her, wrapping as much of his body around hers as he can, and cradling her back to his front.

The silent tears that have fallen from her eyes for the last couple of hours suddenly turn into heaving sobs and for a moment, the sound of them frightens him. He knows that nothing he says will help her, that he cannot assure her of anything because he isn't sure of anything himself. He doesn't know if John will truly recover from the damage that Slade has done. He doesn't know about Roy or Sara because the only person he'd been concerned with in the end was her.

She turns in his arms and presses her face into the center of his chest as she cries. He tightens his arms around her, his hand moving soothing over her back. He presses his lips to her ear.

"Shh, it's okay, Felicity," he murmurs, "I've got you. You're okay."

He knows that she hears him. He knows that his words offer only a miniscule amount of comfort, but he doesn't know what else to say. He wants to tell her that she is going to be okay, that they are both going to survive this. He wants to tell her that he will never let anything happen to her because he needs her. He needs her and he loves her and it's taken him too damn long to realize it. But he says nothing of the sort. He simply continues to hold her and murmur meaningless assurances in her ear.


End file.
